"You know, I feel like there should be something more," I commented that night as we lay in bed. "Like...I don't know, a celebration or—"

"A wedding?" Eomer suggested with a grin.

"Exactly! But we're already married," I complained. "Aragorn and Arwen get this huge, romantic, flashy wedding to let the whole world know they're in love and Eowyn and Faramir will have theirs in a few months. What did we get? A horse, a dog, and a pile of fresh manure when we woke up."

The dog in question lifted his head from the foot of the bed, where I insisted he was allowed to sleep. He whimpered once and put his head back on his paws in a dejected sort of way.

"Oh, I love you Robby," I assured him. "But you're simply not romantic enough."

"When we go home, we'll have a wondrous feast in honor of the two Shieldmaidens of Rohan and Faramir and I can both declare our undying love," Eomer told me. "Would that do?"

"So long as you're declaring your undying love to me, not Faramir," I said. "Even if you weren't already married, I don't think Faramir would be half as fun in bed as I am. He's too shy."

"Sky!" Eomer looked like he wasn't sure whether to laugh or be horrified. Then he settled on the former. "You shouldn't be speaking of timidity, you know. Need I remind you of our wedding night? You looked like you would be sick right there."

"Well, you cured me of that soon enough," I said with a smile, and laid my head on his chest. "I'm going to miss Eowyn."

"So shall I," Eomer sighed. "I always knew she would get married eventually, but—it seems too soon."

"She is three years older than I am," I reminded him.

"Aye, well, you didn't exactly ask to get married, did you?"

"I'm glad I did, though," I murmured. "Did your parents choose each other or was their marriage arranged?"

"Oh, aye, they chose one another," Eomer said softly. "Theirs was a love match; a rare thing for nobility. My father was the First Marshall—a rank just high enough for a marriage to be permissible. They were lucky... and so are we."

"And so are Eowyn and Faramir, and Aragorn and Arwen," I added, then grimaced. "I can't believe I have to have new gowns made. I thought I would stab myself the last time I had gowns made for me. Why do Arwen and Eowyn have to be so tall?"

"Why do you have to be so short?" Eomer countered.

"I'm not that short," I huffed. "They're just unnaturally tall. It's not fair that Eowyn can borrow one and I have to have one made."

"Aye, life is unfair," Eomer murmured, hugging me closer. "I like you the way you are. Tall women remind me of my sister."

"It wouldn't do for you to be thinking of your sister while in bed, would it?" I agreed solemnly. "Can you imagine what that wedding night would have been like?"

"Sky!" Eomer squinched his eyes closed, no doubt blocking unwanted mental images. "Urgh. I'm going to sleep."

"Sweet dreams."


The day of Aragorn's wedding dawned bright and clear, as it had the day before for his coronation. I suppose it was fitting, since he apparently had a prophecy about him and everything. He looked—well, not like the Aragorn I knew. For one thing, he was clean-shaven. For another, he wore velvet and silk instead of leather and ringmail. Gone was the strangely regal Ranger. In his place was the King of Gondor. King Elessar with his elven queen, Arwen Evenstar. The ceremony was brief and solemn. At the end, although there was no kiss, I could hear Aragorn and Arwen singing softly to one another. I sighed and leaned back against Eomer's chest. It was just so—I'd say cute, but they were both too dignified and impressive for that.

The feast was even more impressive than the ceremony—and much less conservative. Merry and Pippin got right up on the table and started dancing to the lively music that had started up. Faramir officially proposed to Eowyn, who, to my shock, blushed prettily and dropped a demure curtsy of acceptance. Eomer gaped openly, mouth hanging open. I tapped it shut, whispering, "You're catching flies, milord."

"He's drugged her," he whispered back. "There is simply no other explanation."

"Shh," I admonished, stifling a laugh.

"You think I'm jesting? Just look at her! Does that look like Eowyn to you? Perhaps she has a counterpart from your world..."

"Oh, hush," I said, not bothering to stifle the laugh this time.

Soon, the Skylark was commanded by the masses to sing. I decided to sing a Rohirric song I'd learned about a lass and her lover. To my surprise, Eomer joined in with a strong, warm bass. I hadn't known he could sing. I was even more surprised at the pride and love in his eyes as he sang with me. I grinned up at him when we finished.

"I didn't know you sang," I murmured when we finished.

"I didn't know you sang in Rohirric," he returned in a whisper.

We stayed in Minas Tirith for another week while the celebrations lasted. Eowyn and I spent much of our time with Arwen, who, for all her unearthly beauty and grace, was smart, fun, and wickedly funny. She could also shoot a bow and wield a sword, which endeared her to Eowyn. I also spent a considerable amount of time with the Princes of Dol Amroth. It quickly became clear that they really, truly were not my father and brothers and my heart was set at peace. They even promised to visit some time. I was glad, because I found that I would miss them—for their own sakes, not because they looked like my family.

When the time came, Eowyn and I bade Arwen farewell—Eowyn and Faramir would return with us to Rohan and be married there. And, as promised, Eowyn and I would have our feast. As we rode out of the city, I looked back only once and smiled. I felt a stirring of anticipation in my belly. Eomer saw my smile and grinned in return.

"Aye," he said softly. "We're going home."

"Home," I sighed. I thought of the rolling, windswept plain and the Golden Hall of Meduseld atop the hill. I thought of our bed and our stables and our city. Our kingdom. Laughing, I nudged Liadan with my heels and we raced ahead, toward home.

A/N: well, my ducks, this truly is the end. Thank you for all the wonderful reviews and I hope you enjoyed it. I plan on writing a fanfic on the Chronicles of the Cheysuli by Jennifer Roberson (unless she's on the list of don't's, in which case i'll write it and just not post it) if I do post it, it won't be for a while but I encourage you to read the books, because they're amazing. Well, good-bye and thanks again!